


newfound ugliness

by juicymats



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Gen, Introspection, based on his social link, post madarames palace, spoilers of course..
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-02 02:53:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14535102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juicymats/pseuds/juicymats
Summary: It is his fault I can no longer view paintings with a pure heart.





	newfound ugliness

**Author's Note:**

> vent fic...  
> thank you for reading, if you do ..!  
> (not beta'd )

The blank canvas mocks him endlessly.

Ideas shot, inspiration drained...Yusuke stiffly sits on his stool towards the easel. It’s hard to feel comfortable wielding a brush again. His hands don’t relax, his shoulders refuse to drop, and the stark white looks just as empty as he feels.

He has no drive, even the colors carefully set aside looked rotten, like mold had begun growing from within.

After the truth of Madarame had been revealed to him..he had felt a certain resolve bloom within him. He had joined the Phantom Thieves in their endeavor to change his heart.

And they had succeeded.

But when everything was all said and done…

He couldn’t pick up his brush. It took so long just to even be able to sit in front of this easel.

The brush slides off his hand, its landing upon the wooden floor but a distant sound.

He didn’t understand _why._

_Why couldn’t he paint?_

It was so frustrating. He felt angry, disappointed, he felt like he was wasting time just sitting here. The canvas stares back, eyes unwavering. The canvas didn’t care how he felt. It didn’t care about how he was taken advantage of. It didn’t care.

It should have been a comforting thought.

But now even as he pathetically attempts to pick up the brush and put _something_ down..

He feels his hand shaking violently.

As the line of red travels across the canvas...he can’t help the overwhelming emotion.

_Didn’t you enjoy painting? Why can’t you enjoy it anymore..?_

His frustration was like a knife in his gut, yet his body wasn’t willing to let his crushing feelings out. It was like he was stone, carved into over and over until it collapsed yet it could never ever shed a single tear.

He just wants to paint again.

But his hands are tainted.

Tainted from the ink of every forgery of the _Sayuri_. Tainted from the neglect and starvation of Madarame’s former pupils.

Tainted with the blood of his mother.

The art was wrong. It was hard to look at another painting, not even his own.

It was hard to gaze upon a work, not knowing the intentions...not understanding the person behind the art. He used to love admiring art, loved speculating the message that art could carry.

But now...all he can feel in his heart is resentment.

The feeling of being unable to enjoy something so easily anymore, his naive search for true beauty in the world…

How could he ever be able to see that beauty, if the dirt and grime from the crimes of an artist was fogging up his head, taking refuge within his brain.

He couldn’t help being paranoid. Was the next work of art he’d gaze upon be another Madarame in the making?

The canvas looked dirtied even when it was so clean, save for his stroke of red earlier.

He couldn’t help it.

He just wanted to paint.

He just wanted to love art again.

He grabs the canvas, nails sharply digging into it. The texture felt awful on his nails, but he couldn’t stop. He roughly grabs the easel, and against his better judgement, throws it across the room in a sickening crash.

It had knocked over his previous failures of art, and he was glad to see it. Breathing ragged, he takes a moment to soothe his heart.

Madarame had truly chained himself to Yusuke’s heart. All he could think about was the man who let his mother die, who disgraced the art world, who didn’t care how many children’s lives he ruined and hurt.

And he couldn’t stop equating the concept of _painting_ to _Madarame._

To love art again..

What would it take?

Could he free himself, from this dark corner of thoughts? This paranoia? The rich, famous and powerful artists he couldn’t help feel could be abusing that fame and power? And not being able to know for sure..?

How do you believe in people again?

The easel laughs at him.

The leg is broken.

He pulls on his hair, growling in a way he’s glad his friends couldn’t hear. It’s broken, just like his love for art.

And he didn’t know if he could ever glue it back together again.

He has no inspiration, he has no drive, he has no happiness for carrying that brush. It feels like a newfound weight, a newfound burden, as if he had become just like Madarame.

He knew it wasn’t true, he knew he wasn’t like that, and yet.

He slowly lets himself slide to the floor, gently hugging himself. He had to calm down. This was enough.

This ugliness born of the art world…

He couldn’t capture anything properly anymore.

Not without including the resentment he found himself feeling for that art world.

All he painted was ugly, ugly, ugly things because it was so hard to see the beauty anymore.

His body finally gives in.

The tears slowly climb out, he couldn’t handle it anymore.

He couldn’t paint anymore.

His talent was going to go to waste. He felt like his entire life was spent wasting his time with something he felt he could never continue with anymore. Quietly, he sobs in the dim lighting of the room, making sure to muffle them with his sleeve.

He felt like a stupid and idiotic child.

When he can’t cry anymore, he raises his head to stare at his easel.

Surely, he’d feel a bit of regret for breaking the leg like that.

But at the moment, he didn’t feel anything.

He shuts his eyes, and allows himself a moment of rest.

 

* * *

 

The stations at Shibuya are as busy as ever, and Yusuke takes the time to admire the view. People watching, it was a pastime he could still enjoy.

He sees the familiar (pardon his wording) rat’s nest that is Akira’s hair walking toward him. He perks up, wondering…

“I would like to speak with you…”

And when Akira gives him a gentle and reassuring smile, he thinks he really could restore his passion once again.

 


End file.
